


Yawn of the Dead

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Rare Honey [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fright Night - Freeform, Gen, Halloween, Scary Movies, Sleepovers, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 11:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16428716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: A few weeks after Steph's notorious sleepover at Baker Street, Rosie goes to stay overnight at the Hughes house for the first time. A night spent watching horror movies sets her up for a good fright.





	Yawn of the Dead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [siriusblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/gifts).



> For all of you who asked for Rosie staying at Steph's.

_30 October_

          The only sound was the clink of cutlery on china, and polite requests for seconds, and Mrs Hughes chatting quietly with her distracted husband at their end of the table. Rosie carefully scooped up some peas and transferred them to her mouth, texting with one hand under cover of the table. She and Steph were planning their night, but since they were going to be doing several things Mrs Hughes would most assuredly not approve of, they had to be surreptitious.

          The Hughes had no idea what the two twelve-year olds were up to, but Steph’s older brother Simon gave them a bored glance out of the corner of his eyes. He’d gotten ticked off for wearing his ear buds at the table and Rosie hoped he wouldn’t betray them out of spite. Mostly he seemed indifferent. He was surly to the point of rebellion, only stopping shy of outright refusal to obey his parents. She tucked her phone under her leg and aimed a bright smile at the adults when Mrs Hughes directed a question her way.

          Tonight just had to go well, poor Steph was so embarrassed still about the whole zombie misunderstanding when she had stayed at Baker Street a few weeks ago. And she’d never been to stay at Steph’s house, since her mother was a bit…anxious. Actually, Rosie had heard her Dad telling Pop that while he’d never suggest sex was the answer to everything, Steph’s mum was so tightly wound he thought she needed a good shag to sort her out, but Rosie was trying to be charitable.

          Dinner over, Rosie and Steph were requested (rather, sweetly ordered) to clear the table and load the dishwasher. It didn’t prevent them from hearing the rather sour negotiating Simon enacted to receive permission to go out to a dance with his friends. He was bitter about his curfew of midnight, but after some initial grumblings and thumpings, he disappeared into his room to get ready. “He knows better than to argue,” Steph whispered in Rosie’s ear, “Last time he tried it, mum not only wouldn’t let him go at all, she grounded him for a week.”

          “Mmm,” Rosie said, wondering if they would be able to escape to Steph’s room when they were done. She had Netflix on her phone and they had already decided on a number of scary movies to watch, including the original _Dawn of the Dead_ , and also _Shaun of the Dead_. Her dads were a lot more laid back than the Hughes, but she wasn’t allowed to watch gory horror movies. With any luck they would be able to have a real horror fest, and stuff themselves on the junk food she had smuggled into the house in her rucksack.

          Rosie liked Steph, and they always had fun, but there was something very stifling about her home. This was the first time Rosie was going to spend the night and she could already tell Mrs Hughes was going to try and hover over them all night.

          The Hughes household was _so_ different from Baker Street and the dark old flat where she lived with her dads, and Nana was just downstairs. They were in the heart of London, near all the activity anyone could wish for. There were science experiments and cooking disasters, takeaway eaten on the sofa, a parade of clients with fascinating problems, and any of a number of interesting things going on. There was warmth and laughter, arguing and sulking and life. At the Hughes’ conversation was more sedate, dinners were formal, taken at a dining table with proper cloth napkins and placemats. There was none of the Bohemian messiness and warmth of her own home life.

          A sudden stab of homesickness for her dads pierced Rosie and she bit her lip, “I’m gonna call and tell my dads goodnight,” she informed Steph, “I’ll go up to your room, ‘k?”

          Door shut she hit her dad’s contact and waited impatiently for an answer. His warm voice soon greeted her, and she relaxed as they chatted. “Having fun, love?”

          “I guess…”

          “What’s wrong?”

          “I miss the two of you,” Rosie admitted, and kicked off her shoes, flopping back onto Steph’s bed. “It’s so _quiet_ here.”

          “You’ve stayed away from home before,” he reminded her.

          “I know…but Steph’s mom is so,” Rosie lowered her voice cautiously, “strict. She kind of scares me. Well, not _scares_.”

          “I know,” her dad’s voice was sympathetic, but there was an edge of laughter to it as well, “she intimidates me too. But you girls will probably spend most of your time in Steph’s room and you’ll have fun.”

          “Yeah,” Rosie agreed.

          “Want to talk to your pop? He’s just out of the shower.”

          “Please.” After a few minutes Rosie disconnected the call and lay staring at the ceiling for a minute. She felt better now, but she still wasn’t eager to go downstairs. Just then there was a quiet knock on the door and Steph stuck her head in, “all done?”

          “Yup!” Rosie sat up with a bounce, grinning, “Wanna start the first movie?”

          Steph closed the door behind her, voice low, “Okay, but we have to listen out for my mom, if she comes in and finds us watching this stuff I’ll be grounded until I’m in uni.”

          “I’ve got a plan for that,” Rosie grinned wickedly. They settled down on a nest of pillows on the bed, facing the door, and Rosie pulled out her ear buds and started up the first movie. Time to get seriously scared.

 

******

 

          Rosie’s plan worked perfectly; she had “casually” discarded her trainers in front of  Steph’s door, which caused enough of a delay for her to pause the film and pull up a game of Bubble Pop. So that by the time Mrs Hughes was in the room they were the picture of innocence. After a few more visits, Steph’s mom’s vigilance relaxed, and they were able to finish two horror movies. Rosie was feeling a bit jumpy, since she wasn’t allowed to watch such gory stuff normally, but they had decided they were old enough to stop being treated like babies. She was a little glad when Mrs Hughes came up to announce that it was bedtime. With minimal grumbling, the two girls took their turns in the loo and changed into their pyjamas.

          Mrs Hughes actually tucked them in, which Rosie found equally parts embarrassing and sweet. She’d never had a mum to tuck her in and although she loved her dads dearly it wasn’t quite the same. But if it meant having a mum like Mrs Hughes, she’d skip it. “Go to sleep now girls,” they were cautioned, and promising sweetly to do so, they waited until they heard her steps fade away down the stairs.

          Rosie bounced out of her bed and crossed over to the matching twin where Steph was huddled under the blanket. Feeling a pang of guilt at the obvious unease on her friend’s face, Rosie offered, “We don’t have to watch any more. We can watch something un-scary if you want.”

          Stubbornly, Steph insisted. Rosie half suspected that it was because she was still embarrassed about her panic at Rosie’s flat from before. She had been trying to prove how brave she was ever since. “Alright,” Rosie agreed, whipping out her mobile, “ _Dawn of the Dead_ it is.”

 

******

 

          They narrowly escaped being caught when Steph’s mum came to check on them before she and her husband went to bed at ten. Waiting a breathless half-hour, giggling in the dark, they finally deemed it safe enough and queued up _Nightmare on Elm Street_ and dug out yet another packet of crisps, although Steph opted for a bar of Dairy Milk. By the time the film was over they were both vibrating with tension from fear and too much sugar. Not willing to admit to their fright, both girls agreed in whispers that it was time to go to sleep, and parted for their own beds.

          It took a long time for Rosie to fall asleep, staring hard at the shadows of the room and holding her breath when she thought she heard a creaking. A babyish urge to text her dad to come fetch her washed over her and she balled her hands into fists. She was nearly thirteen, she was not going to be taken home like a child.

          Eventually she fell into an uneasy sleep, only to awaken in confusion some time later. Heart pounding, she sat up in bed, having forgotten where she was. The soft sounds of Steph’s deep-sleep breathing stole her breath for a moment, until she realized it was her friend and not a hidden killer. Chiding herself for her nerves, Rosie hesitated before getting out of bed; she really needed to pee but she was so jumpy she almost didn’t want to leave the room and go down the dark hallway in search of the loo.

          Gosh, it was _so_ quiet. Tiptoeing, Rosie rubbed at her blurry eyes. Fighting off a yawn, she had her hand on the doorknob and the door already opening before she realized there was a nightlight on. Movement startled her, and she realized with horror there was a dark figure in the small space. In the process of breathing out a sigh of relief, Rosie instead sucked in a panicked breath when it turned out to be Simon, but a Simon she hardly recognized.

          He was dressed all in black, his hair a wild mess. His face was haggard, eyes hollow and dazed and his mouth hung open. Staggering, he reached out toward her, and groaned low and sepulchral, his mouth gaping in a yawn; there was a bit of red smearing his mouth. Rosie bellowed at the top of her lungs, “Undead!” and punched him in the groin before turning on her heels and dashing full pelt back towards the sanctuary of  Steph’s bedroom, his anguished howls following her all the way.

 

******

 

          In the end it turned out to be a far more prosaic explanation than zombies. Simon had stayed out past his curfew, getting spectacularly drunk, and coming home in a mess, his face still covered in ketchup from the chips he’d eaten at some point. Not undead, not covered in blood from his victims and intent on eating Rosie’s brains. Just drunk and stupid.

          The Hughes were in an uproar, horrified that their son had so far flouted their rules as to not only come home hours after he’d been ordered, but to be completely pissed. The lecturing went on for ages. Rosie and Steph sat at the head of the stairs, hidden from view, and listened to it in awe. It was better than a reality show.

          “God, do’y’ think we’ll ever behave so stupidly?” Rosie whispered, curling her cold toes into the legs of her fleece pyjama bottoms.

          “Boys are idiots,” Steph said. She paused, mouth curling up into a humongous grin, “So you thought my brother was a zombie, huh?” She kept trying to fight down a smirk and failing, obviously completely tickled that the great Rosie Watson-Holmes had so far forgotten her aplomb as to think Simon was a zombie after her brains.

          Rosie’s face burned, and she buried it in her arms, voice muffled as she begged, “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you won’t twit me about this for ages?”

          “Nope,” Steph assured her cheerfully.

          “Let’s agree never to speak about tonight or your sleepover at my house ever again?”

          “Not a chance.”

         


End file.
